A Cliche Love Story About Friends
by MotherFlipper
Summary: The title is self-descriptive. Rating is T for now, may change. First fic, so be constructive not cruel. There is no original characters, settings, etc. all belongs to J. K. Rowling. Reviews would be nice.
1. Chapter 1

He almost couldn't believe his eyes. He had not seen her for more than four years, though he had continued their friendly correspondence, sending letters at least once every month. So long it had been since he had last spoken to her, yet he could remember her voice, resounding clearer in his head than the Bulgarian accents of his own family. Whenever he received her responses his heart expanded beyond the limits of his chest, but just enough for him to inscribe every word, every flourish on its surface. He realized he had no reason to react so fervently - she had be so young when they last saw each other, had moved on since those few months he had resided at Hogwarts – but he had long resigned himself to the self-inflicted torment of what would never be.

And yet, as he reread the invitation for the fifth time, stopping to gaze at the magical wallet-sized photograph included within the card, he could not suppress the long buried "ifs" and "maybes" from springing up, like flowers from a burial mound.

He absently stroked a corner of the picture with his thumb, considering the image of the young woman, so different, yet so similar to the blossoming girl of fourteen he had met during his final year at Durmstrang.

His memory showed an intelligent girl, estranged from her peers by what seemed almost and obliviousness to normal adolescent frivolities – her nose fixed between the pages of a text most Seventh years would shun. He remembered how all he had to do was ask her what she was reading to see that sparkle in her cinnamon eyes, her wild chestnut hair practically crackling with electricity as she excitedly began a lecture that could last for hours on the subject of her interest. Some days he didn't even ask, just so he could watch her, half-hidden behind a pile of heavy tomes, eyes moving at an a pace barely fast enough to keep up with the whirring machinery of her exquisite mind.

In this portrait he saw the same eyes, the same unruly hair, complete with bouncing tendrils escaping from the ribbon at her nape – a futile attempt to tame it for the occasion – and the same wide, genuine smile lighting up her heart-shaped face. In the last few years she had gained a certain grace and confidence that was clearly visible in her glowing features, making her seem older than her eighteen years.

When he met her, he understood what she was so much more than the boys her own age, but that was also the line that had prevented more than the close companionship they now shared. Though never mentioned, it was evident from the very beginning: the Yule Ball, The Second Challenge, the late nights reading in the library - all formed an intimate friendship and obvious affection others would have considered more; but despite the indisputable maturity she presented, she was still a child then and honor would not allow him to press their relationship further.

Her graduation invitation, an event a mere two months away, gave him an opportunity to see her in person for the first time since the Triwizard Tournament. He knew it was simply another display of Destiny's sadistic mind – her letters had revealed a steady relationship with that temperamental red-haired imbecile since her sixth year – but he would go nevertheless. He would go just to see her, just to be near her for a little while.

Hermione entered the Great Hall, which had been decorated and arranged as a reception area for the recent graduates and their friends and family to mingle, free of the hot, heavy robes she had worn for the ceremony. Underneath she had worn a creamy yellow, cotton number more appropriate for the humid June day, and was happy to find the Hall dry and cool enough even to cause slight goose bumps to rise on her bare, sun-kissed shoulders.

She made a circuit around the open floor space with her parents, hugging dear friends and exchanging contact information, wishing her classmates the best of luck as they parted ways and thanking teachers for their dedication and patience over the years.

Slightly overwhelmed by the sheer emotion and palpable change that hung in the air, Hermione gradually removed herself from the main hub of activity, sidling over to the refreshment table for some water.

"You neffer vere very fond off crowds, Er-my-nee," came a deep, heavy-accented voice from behind her.

Even before she had completely turned to face him, she recognized who had spoken.

"Viktor!" Hermione cried joyously, while enveloping him in hug that would have crushed all ribs but those of the robust Bulgarian. "You came!"

He reciprocated her cephalopodan hug, with slightly less force, though with no less enthusiasm, playfully lifting her into the air and spinning her before gently setting her back on the ground. When her pealing laughter finally slowed, he replied softly "Off coss I came, Er-my-nee. Did you doubt it?"

Seeing his heavy brows furrow minutely, she was about to explain that she was simply happy to see him when two slim, freckled arms captured her in their wiry grip.

"What's this? I leave you alone for a minute and you've already moved on to a new man?" teased Ron from behind her and planting a chaste kiss to the top of her head.

"I'm sorry you had to find out like this, Ron," Hermione quipped with a mock apologetic expression on her face, "I was hoping to break it to you gently." She lightly swatted one of his hands, then covered it, lacing her fingers between her own.

"'Lo Viktor! Long time no see, eh? How's the Seeking?" Ron said extending his free hand.

Viktor received the gesture civilly, trying to hide his discomfort at the couple's open display of affection. "Hello Ron, it is good seeing you. The team does vell this season and hopes to return to the Vorld Cup this time."

"Brilliant! That's excellent news, last year was a bloody disappointment. We need some real competition." Releasing Hermione's shoulders, he clasped her faced between his hands and said, "I've got to leave soon, Charlie is meeting us at the Apparition point at 1:00. Are you sure you can't come?"

"We've been over this before, I have orientation for work scheduled next week!" Hermione explained, rolling her eyes in exasperation.

"Damn Ministry," Ron grumbled under his breath, "The just had to get you started right away. I'm sure the Department could have waited a few more weeks." Sighing, he bent down and surprised her with a heated goodbye kiss. "I'll miss you. See you when I get back."

Hermione nodded, recovering from the unexpected show, trying to steady her breathing and licking her swollen lips. When she turned from his retreating form, her cheeks stained prettily when she noticed Viktor rooted to the spot.

Clearing her throat she tried to maintain her composure. "Sorry Viktor, he normally isn't so…so forward." Viktor could read her embarrassment in her face and body language: her weight shifting from one foot to the other, bottom lip worried, while wringing her hands as if they were a wet towel.

"Do not vorry, I am celebrity, compared to my teammates you are positively demure." Viktor replied with false casualty, only his clenched fists and white knuckles belying the words he spoke. "You spoke off orientation next veek, this is the internship and International Magical Cooperation you wrote off?"

"Yes," Hermione responded eagerly, placated by Viktor's joke and the change of subject, "it starts next Monday, bright and early. And I still have to work at Flourish and Blott's if I'm going to eat."

Viktor chuckled at this. "Off coss! Ve vould not vant you to go hun-ger-y. Though I think ve both know the only thing you vill be devouring is books."

"It helps me keep my girlish figure," Hermione jested, placing her hands around her narrow waist playfully.

So far Viktor had successfully managed to remain focused on Hermione's face...of course, his eyes strayed to her neck or collar bones, merely because of its close proximity, and anyone would have noticed her bared arms. Now he could only mask the desire he felt as he let his vision imperceptibly fall upon her figure: the swell of her modest, pert breasts, not even revealed by the v-neck of her dress, narrowed to a tiny waist; the graceful flare of her hips was barely hidden by the subtle flow of the skirt, which covered her slender legs to the knee – even her smooth calves, meeting delicate ankles and sandal-clad feet, held the promise of something more and sent a flash of heat throughout his body.

All this Viktor observed with composed features in mere nanoseconds and replied without betraying his lascivious thoughts. "All the fiber I am sure. But perhaps you could relax your stringent diet for lunch von day this veek?"

"You'll be in London next week?" Hermione questioned, confusion written on her face.

"Most likely for the next few veeks, actually. I am representative off Bulgaria National for convention held by the International Association of Kvidditch. Ve are discossing certain regulations concerning brooms, players, enhancement potions and other sundry issues. It could take av-hile, though. Ve athletes are not renowned for our speedy resolutions – the last convention lasted almost two months, and that was only ofer Quaffle manufacturing standards."

Hermione's expression shifted from that of confusion to one of delight. "That's wonderful! – you being in London, that is. When will you be free? I have a half-hour lunch break beginning at 12:30."

"On Monday there is a business luncheon I must attend, but the rest off the veek I am free from 12:00 until 1:00. How is Tuesday?"

"It's a date! But now I think I'd better go, my parents are looking a bit overwhelmed." Hermione said.

That her parents appeared "overwhelmed" was an understatement: Mr. Granger was attempting to maintain a conversation with and enthusiastic Mr. Weasley about operation of televisions while Mrs. Granger was feigning attention, regularly gazing imploringly at Hermione, willing her to look in their direction.

Viktor's gut clenched painfully when Hermione said "date" because he knew she meant nothing by it. However, he had been disciplined throughout his education to keep his emotions under wraps and easily hid his discomfort. "I vill meet you at Flourish and Blott's, then ve vill decide where to eat. See you soon," he said, the last part accompanied by a brief hug.

"You got it," Hermione replied, giving him a quick peck on the cheek before returning to her parents.

The next thing Viktor was aware of was that he was in his hotel room, hand pressed against his cheek. He could only assume that his legs had acted automatically, though he was amazed that he had managed to Apparate without splinching himself. All he could remember was the intense burning sensation concentrated on his left cheek.


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione lay on the twin bed of her childhood bedroom, rarely used during her tenure at Hogwarts and unfamiliar to her senses

Hermione lay on the twin bed of her childhood bedroom, rarely used during her tenure at Hogwarts and unfamiliar to her senses. A floral quilt and pastel linens clothed the mattress she was currently sprawled across, open to the room rather than enclosed by heavy velvet drapes. The unadorned white walls appeared wan under the artificial light of the fixture that hung from her ceiling, unmitigated by the long, narrow window facing the backyard. The smell of dust filled her nose as she inhaled, and she missed the clear, fresh scent that filled the castle despite its age. The only familiar aspect was her books.

A mid-sized oak bookcase was full to the brim with them, while neat piles could be found on every available flat surface. Being surrounded by the numerous volumes was reminiscent of the Hogwarts library where she spent so much of her time. She closed her eyes and smiled, allowing the memories to permeate her thoughts.

There she spent hours researching the Sorcerer's Stone in her first year, only for Harry to find the answer on a Chocolate Frog card – an invaluable lesson that books could not teach her everything.

Her second year found her similarly wading through heavy tomes, trying to decipher the mystery of the Chamber of Secrets.

Hermione's nose wrinkled at the memory of her third year – she had practically lived in the library, what with the ridiculous amount of classes she took, not to mention the time involved in writing a defense for Buckbeak's trial.

As a Fourth Year student, her work was considerably less, though she spent a few all-nighters helping Harry with the Triwizard Tournament. It was there that she met Viktor…

Hermione had not liked Viktor, not initially. He was constantly surrounded by a throng of drooling, mindless groupies and she found herself relocating to the library on more than one occasion due to the noisome giggles they emitted (Thank Merlin for Madam Pince). One day she found her self in such a position and was sitting on one of the wide, brick windowsills, cold with the approaching winter, with a hefty, leather-bound Charms volume.

She was reading a fascinating chapter about extended and permanent spells when the harsh sequential cracks of the library door being opened and shut hastily caused her to start, dropping her book and smacking the back of her head on the stone in surprise. Hermione winced as she rubbed the tender area and turned to scold the student (probably a first year) who had given her such a shock. Her jaw snapped shut at the sight of Viktor Krumb, bent double and panting as if he had been chases by a pack of rabid dogs – or admirers. She stretched her arm and reached for the abuses book, sighing quietly in irritation as she relocated the paragraph she had been gleaning before the interruption.

Lost once more in the labyrinth of ink and paper, it took Hermione longer than usual to realize that goosebumps that had begun to form on her arms and neck were not the result of the chill seeping in through the cracks in the walls. She looked up and scanned the library, brow furrowed with confusion, until she saw Viktor, now recovered from his exertion and leaning against the door. Staring at her. Hermione's head snapped back to its original position so fast that she was certain she'd pulled something. Glaring down unseeingly at the forgotten book in her hands, she felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment and annoyance. Several thoughts and questions popped up all at once. _Why is he staring at me?_ was obviously first, soon followed by _What does he want?_ and _I wish he'd leave. _This thought process continued for approximately half-a-minute before Hermione stopped it. _Why do you even care? _she thought angrily. _He has every right to be in the library! Now, weren't you reading something?_

She refocused her eyes to the print in front of her, but found she couldn't concentrate. She slammed the book shut and started to gather her things. She was so enveloped in chastising herself as she did this that she failed to hear Viktor's approaching footsteps.

"I apologize if I hoff disturbed you," Viktor said, his tone abashed.

Hermione gasped, jumping at the sound and dropping her bag. She hastily bent down to retrieve its spilled contents, unsure why Viktor's help seemed to fuel her ire rather than imbue her with feelings of gratitude.

"I am sorry! Did I frighten you?" he questioned as he passed her a few ink jars and a tube of chap-stick.

Hermione pressed her lips together and inhaled deeply through her nose to ward off the sharp retort hanging on the tip of her tongue. He was only trying to help – even if had been his fault to begin with. "That's alright, it seems to be happening with more frequency these days." She was sure that her tight smile was transparently insincere.

After she had mentally catalogued that all her possessions were safely located in her school bag, she braced herself to heave the monstrosity off the floor. She was perplexed at the comparative lightness of the bag as she lifted it – until she realized Viktor had taken hold of the strap and helped to settle it gently on her shoulder.

"Pardon me, I do not belief I introduced myself." He took a step back and bent slightly at the waist, extending his hand to her – palm up. "I am Viktor," he said looking her in the eye.

Even under try circumstances Hermione usually managed to be civil, but in her dazed state she was having trouble processing the formal stance with which he presented himself.

"I know," she replied rather dully. Her eyes landed on the hand still extended for acceptance and realized he had been waiting for her. She placed her own hand in his. She held her breath when he inclined his head slightly, but exhaled with relief when he released her hand – for a moment she had been afraid he was going to kiss it. He looked at her as if he was expecting something…

"Oh, sorry. I'm Hermione," she said quickly, realizing her mistake.

His eyes twinkled mischievously when he replied, "I know." He turned on his heel and slumped out of the library in his normal duck-footed manner, leaving Hermione dumbfounded.

Hermione shook her head, praying for normalcy and hoping no one would hear her plea.

Hermione's musings were interrupted by a rather persistent and audible rumbling from her stomach. _Ah, perfect timing_. She was grateful for the distraction, for she knew too well where thinking about Viktor led her and it always resulted to loafing on the couch with a sappy movie and copious amounts of chocolate.


	3. Chapter 3

Viktor felt like an impatient child. He awoke Sunday from the few hours of sleep he'd managed on the foreign bed before the sun was even up. Throwing off the scratchy, unattractive duvet cover he slipped his feet off onto the stiff carpet and stretched his arms. He always slept badly when away from home; the mattresses were simply too lumpy and the air too warm – not to mention the time difference.

Striding over to his suitcase, he pulled out a pair of worn jeans, a plain grey cotton tee, and pair of boxers. Viktor never placed his clothes in the provided dressers; he traveled frequently as an athlete and saw no point in making himself at home when he would be leaving again anyway. It made his real home feel more special.

As he turned on the bathroom light, he scowled at his reflection. His day was entirely empty, meaning his mind was free to wander uninhibited and rest upon feelings that he would rather forget. Sighing, he turned on the water and stepped in, contemplating ways to keep himself preoccupied.

- - -

Hermione reluctantly opened her eyes the third time her alarm went off, though she was sorely tempted to hit the snooze button again. She pressed her face into her pillow, muffling the groan that escaped her lips. It was freezing. She rubbed her icy feet together beneath the multitude of blankets that covered her and grumbled to herself, hoping to delay the inevitable. Finally, she slid carefully out of bed, grimacing at the glacial air that hit her flannel-clad body. Hugging her arms close to her chest, she briskly dashed into the hallway outside her room to adjust the A/C. Really, she understood that it was hot outside, but transforming the house into a fairly accurate representation of the Antarcticwas extreme, even for her father.

She darted back into her room making a beeline for the bathroom, pulling her pajama shirt off as she went, undressing fully by the time she reached her shower door. Wrenching the hot water knob on as far as it would allow, she gratefully hopped into the scalding stream. She adjusted the temperature accordingly when she began to regain feeling in her white toes and began to mechanically wash her hair while mentally forming a schedule for the day. She had all her boxes packed and ready to be loaded onto her truck – a rusty artifact she inherited from her uncle. She had about one-and-a-half hours before she had to meet Harry and Ginny at the complex, giving her ample time to eat breakfast and read the newspaper.

- - -

"Well, it looks like you're all set," Harry said as he surveyed Hermione's new apartment.

Looking around, Hermione found she couldn't disagree. Her new flat was small, only one room – discounting the bathroom – with a half-bar separating it into two: a combination bedroom and living room and a parody of a kitchen. Despite its shortcomings, Hermione felt a swell of pride and accomplishment as she stood in _her_ apartment.

"Only took all day," Ginny interjected, voice partially muffled by Harry's chest which she leaned into limply.

Hermione smiled ruefully at the apparent exhaustion of her friends. "Thank you both so much, I know it was a lot of work. It would have taken me four times as long without you to get settled in – seeing as Harry counts for two of me."

"Hey!" Harry exclaimed with a wounded expression

Hermione laughed, clutching the marble counter of the bar for support. "You know what I mean! Stop being facetious – I'm so tired, if I laugh too much I might just implode."

"Hermione, anyone who has enough brain cells left to use the word 'facetious' after today is in no danger of imploding," Harry said exasperatedly, rolling his eyes.

"Perhaps, though I think soundness of mind can only ward off physical weariness to a certain degree, and I for one do not want test its limits. So…get out." Hermione upturned her nose and made a dismissive motion with her hands, but was having difficultly restraining her smile – when you're tired, everything is ridiculously funny.

Visibly stiffening, Harry tightened his grip on Ginny and started moving towards the door, practically dragging the listless, scowling redhead. "Fine," he sniffed, "we can see when we're not wanted." He flung open the door, stepped snobbishly into the hallway, and slammed the door.

Shaking her head and chuckling, Hermione plopped down onto the couch. She gazed out the window opposite it, which had a scenic view of a winsome Muggle park, its green grass and numerous trees the quintessence of summer.

She considered why she had chosen a Muggle apartment when she felt most at home in the wizarding world. Obviously she had spent more than half of her life in a Muggle home, attending a Muggle school, and experiencing most everything normal Muggle children do, but she knew it was more than that – some inexplicable feeling of familiarity, despite her principally magical upbringing for the past eight years.

A few, twilight joggers were the last thing that Hermione saw through her drooping eyelids and she vaguely thought that she should start running herself before she fell asleep on the couch, too exhausted to even set up the pull-out mattress.

- - -

Inhaling steadily through his nose and exhaling through his mouth, Viktor continued to run, his legs growing heavier with each step.

Frustrated from want of distraction, he had left the confines of his room late that evening, moving without any definite purpose. It was then that he had seen a flyer in the hotel lobby for some sort of festival, though he didn't really pay attention to the occasion. His eyes automatically fell upon the noun 'park' and he knew that a run was more than enough to keep the rising hope in his chest at bay. If he was running from his feelings, figuratively, he might as well do it literally.

And so he found himself following the painted lines of a paved track in a Muggle park, the sun falling bellow the trees, and with it his energy. It wasn't surprising as he had been running for a few hours now, pushing himself beyond the limits of his normal training to a near marathon-winning pace and distance. As Viktor finally slowed to a walk, he pushed his hair back from his damp forehead and wiped the sweat off his face with his equally sweaty t-shirt. When he finished cooling down he moved off the track to stretch his abused muscles.

He pulled his left arm behind his head, really surveying the lamp-lit scenery of the park for the first time. Lush trees, overflowing with leaves and fruits, shaded much of the track and surrounded a wide expanse of bright green lawn. Here and there, rickety wooden benches were occupied by elderly couples and the chirping of crickets filled his ears. The sky was filled with stars, twinkling as if laughing at some unspoken joke, and the muggy air smelled of freshly cut grass. Viktor knew as he turned blindly to the string of tiny apartments that he had failed, and now his exhausted mind and body were defenseless to ward off the flood of memories triggered by the splendor of the panorama.

- - -

That night had started off indoors with Viktor standing at the base of the grand staircase of Hogwart's Entrance Hall, the customary sullen expression set in his handsome features. He nervously cracked his knuckles individually then moved to alternately smoothing his hair and robes as he watched the other couples meet up and enter the Great Hall. He had taken to glancing worriedly at the top of the stairs, not really expecting to see her, but this time he froze. She was magnificent.

He saw her feet first, painted toe-nails peeking out of elegant satin heels, then his eyes traveled the length of her iridescent periwinkle robes. Her arms were sheathed in the chiffon that gathered at her wrists and shoulders, and legs were similarly showcased from the knee down. The sheer outer-garment swung free with a modest scoop neck that clasped delicately at her breastbone and demurely displayed the slightly more revealing silk shift underneath. When his vision moved to her face, Viktor's mouth went dry. With her hair tamed into a sleek up-do, he could see the soft contour of her cheekbones and the light make-up she had worn for the occasion.

Viktor was momentarily stunned, but as he came to his senses he realized she wore a rather anxious expression – her forehead wrinkled, and lower lip caught between her teeth. He gave a wide, crooked smile, and held out his arm to take hers when she reached the ground floor. His skin tingled where her fingers rested in the crook of his elbow and he reached his opposite hand to rest on hers.

"You look loffly," he breathed in her ear, his breath catching inaudibly at the shiver that ran down her back.

"So do you," she murmured, a flush spreading from her chest to her face.

Discerning to remain silent for the moment, Viktor led Hermione into the Great Hall, where they took their places for the opening dance. He placed his hand on her waist andheld her hand lightly in his, struggling to keep the more lurid situations this placement echoed out of his imagination.

"I think it's only fair that I warn you, Viktor," Hermione's soft voice interrupted, "I'm a horrid dancer."

Noticing her self-consciousness at this fact, Viktor dipped his forehead to meet hers, smiling reassuringly, and replied: "That makes two off os."

Viktor remembered fondly how, despite the fact that – between the two of them – they had four left feet, they had twirled around the floor until they were breathless, managing to step on only each other's feet.

Hermione clutched his arm with both hands as he led her by the waist to the table where Harry and Ron sat. He brushed an errant curl from her eyes before he went to the refreshment table to get them both some pumpkin juice. Viktor was riding on a wave of adrenaline, unequaled even by the thrill of a good Quidditch match, and he moved quickly back to the table. When he returned to find it empty he was confused. Glancing about the diminishing crowd of couples and teachers, he became worried that he still did not see Hermione's familiar form.

Viktor tried to retain his composure, but he grew more concerned every minute he couldn't find her. When he exited the Great Hall Viktor felt relief at finding Hermione sitting on the staircase – and discomfort when he realized that she was sobbing.

He stood awkwardly at her side, the cups filled with pumpkin juice still occupying his hands. Setting the cups down on the step, he lowered himself next Hermione. Completely at a loss as to how he should proceed, Viktor wrapped his arms about her shoulders and let her sob into his chest as soothingly murmured to her in Bulgarian. He breathed a sigh of relief as this began to produce its desired effect and Hermione's sobs became less erratic and her breathing evened. He silently lead her to the courtyard, away from prying eyes, sat her down a cool marble bench, and clasped her hands as he settled down next to her.

"Whot hoppened Er-my-nee?" Viktor asked earnestly, searching her face for any clue to her outburst.

As Hermione shook her head mutely, rubbing her nose with the back of her hand, Viktor saw new angry tears well up in her eyes and tilted her chin up to face him. But when he saw her red, swollen eyes directed at him imploringly, he knew that simple, innocent motion was a mistake. He didn't know how to help her – he didn't even know what was wrong – but he knew he could resist kissing her tear-stained cheeks, to do something to make it better.

Hermione tensed when she saw Viktor lean down, but relaxed when she felt cool, dry lips press against the hollow of one cheek, then the other, then the tip of her nose. Viktor hesitated when he reached her mouth, his lips maybe an inch from her own, but brushed the corner of her mouth delicately. He did not want to take advantage of her current emotional state.

Hands shaking, he moved the same stray lock from her eyes and whispered, "Let oss go back inside."

- - -

Viktor was startled from his daze by the sound of an owl and found himself on a rusty iron bench in the middle of the park, the night dark and deep as the bottom of the sea. Angry at himself for allowing himself the painful indulgence of remembering that night, he sprang from the bench and slammed his fist into a near by tree, the skin over his knuckles tearing on the rough bark and the bones of his fingers groaning in protest. Sightlessly he tore toward the hotel, momentarily forgetting that he could Apparate – which was just as well, in his state of temper – and relishing in the distraction of the purpling flesh of hand. He should never have come back.


End file.
